


What You Just Can't Do

by gsmaxwell



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-11
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:54:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gsmaxwell/pseuds/gsmaxwell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Kurt had decided to come to New York it was with a goal in mind. Ohio wasn’t a great launching pad for a career in heroism. Oh, sure, sometimes they got lucky with a serial killer, or Columbus had some small time crime lords for gambling and drugs. But New York- that was a whole new league of evil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**What You Just Can't Do**

R (death, violence), Klaine, SuperHero AU  
Written for the [Reverse Klaine Big Bang](http://kbl-reversebang.livejournal.com/) for this picture by the lovely and talented [astrejilau](http://astrejlau.tumblr.com/)!

_When Kurt had decided to come to New York it was with a goal in mind. Ohio wasn’t a great launching pad for a career in heroism. Oh, sure, sometimes they got lucky with a serial killer, or Columbus had some small time crime lords for gambling and drugs. But New York- that was a whole new league of evil._

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/gsmaxfic/pic/00002ag3/)   
[(Click here for the full sized image)](http://pics.livejournal.com/gsmaxfic/pic/00003tra/g2)

 

  


_Katie Couric: Can you explain why you decided to move to LA?_

_Pucker-Rex: It’s simple, see. Back home, it was hard to find good opportunities to bone chicks and make a quick buck. Here, people are just giving their money away I don’t even feel bad about stealing it._

_Katie Couric: So, do you feel bad about some of the things you’ve done?_

_Pucker-Rex: Hell no! Look, people keep asking me that stupid question and I keep on having to repeat myself. The way I think of it, there’s two kinds of people. People like me, ripped badasses who get shit done and sleep just fine at night. And then there’s the other guys, pansy hero of the week Captain Freedom or some shitty name like that, who keep trying to save the day, but, trust me, it’s not because they have some kind of inner mental goodness, or whatever. It’s because they want the same shit that I do: money, blood and naked chicks, and they just want people to look the other way while they do it._

_\- May 2008, Katie Couric, Good Morning America,_ ‘Interviews with America’s Fastest Rising Villains’

_“Warbler, on your six!”_

“Got it,” there was a heart stopping moment as he jumped blindly through the smoke and there was a sudden emptiness under his feet.

He dropped; unfortunately he was still limited by gravity. Relentless drills took over as he reached out to snag the railing of the fire escape with one hand, slowing the fall so he could roll with the impact over dirty gravel in the alleyway.

_“Where’s my exit?”_ a calm collected voice said through Blaine’s earpiece as he flattened himself against the alley wall under the stairs.  
  
He could hear his pursuers cursing above him but they were busy looking at the ends of the alley. The sun was only just rising and as long as he didn’t move he could stay in the shadows undetected for just a little longer.  
  
 _“Go from the roof. One over, south.”_  
  
“Now, where’s the decoy’s exit?” Blaine asked quickly, his lips barely moving. He only had a few more seconds to spare before he had to act; he could hear the guards coming down the aging fire escape.  
  
But there was silence in his ear.  
  
“Vertigo,” he hissed, flakes of rust shaking loose under the heavy soled boots. The calm that had centered him at the apex of his jump was gone. “Vertigo! Dalton! _David!”_  
  
There was a shout above him, someone cursed, and Blaine saw a shadow make the leap he hadn’t across to the roof of the other building and dart away. It wasn’t much but it was enough and Blaine took the split moment of distraction to glance around until he saw the metal door a few paces to his right.  
  
Blaine knew the guards had to hear him as he pushed the old metal door ( _how stupid, in this neighbourhood_ ) open with a heavy scraping sound. He bolted the door behind him, hoping it would buy him a few minutes.  
  
 _“104 is empty and had a street window.”_  
  
Blaine could hear them pound on the door as he hurried down the hallway past _110, 108, 106,_ to the _104_ stamped in faded gold. The locks gave too easily with a sharp kick and Blaine mentally thanked the greed that made people skimp on things like safety.  
  
However, it meant that his pursuers could also get to him that much easier so he had to move quickly.  
  
He slipped into the apartment and closed the door. He slipped the bolt at the top of the door closed, though he knew it would do nothing to stop the men following him.  
  
The apartment was dark. The small window across the small living room was covered with heavy curtains. Blaine’s eyes adjusted quickly. He had never had a problem seeing in the dark, something his father’s more cat-like qualities had contributed. He took in the sparse room with a quick glance.  
  
The whole building was like this: bare, dank, temporary and cheap. Dalton Intelligence had decided that was the reason the smugglers had been staying here in the first place. Blaine had wondered why they needed to do this at all if the smugglers didn’t even have the resources for a better hide out. But he didn’t join Dalton to be a leader so he ducked his head and followed orders as usual.  
  
Before he could think of his next move, there was a loud _BOOM_ and the sound of the metal door cutting into the hallway.  
  
He checked the curtains to see if the coast was as clear as David had said and groaned. Although the locks on the door had been cheap, the windows were covered with heavy steel bars.  
  
He could hear the voices in the hall, angry and there was another loud _BOOM_ as a door to another apartment was blown off its hinges.  
  
“Vertigo, a little help would be nice.”  
  
There was a long silence and Blaine could feel his panic mingling with anger as each second ticked by too fast until finally, _“Objector is on his way for extraction.”_  
  
“Hurry,” Blaine moved away from the window as another door exploded and he heard a distant scream then shouting.  
  
The living room and kitchen were shadowed but in clear view of the entrance so Blaine reached for the closest of the other two doors along the wall. He was in luck; the small bedroom was just as dark as the living area but there was a window here too. Blaine closed the door behind him and locked it because it felt stupid not to. There was another BOOM and Blaine flinched because it had felt close.  
  
Maybe it was because his senses were strung out from being on high alert for too long or maybe the stress of everything was finally catching up on him because a small gulp from the corner of the room made him move without thinking.  
  
“Wait, wait!” there was a little voice, high with terror, and a second scream. Blaine dropped the boy the second the sound registered, horrified with his reflexes. “Don’t hurt us, please!”  
  
The little boy was holding the arm Blaine had grabbed him with tightly. There was a little girl as well, crying a few feet away and covering her ears with her hands.  
  
“I won’t- I’m not going to hurt you,” Blaine managed to say, the blood pounding too hard in his ears.  
  
“Please, leave us alone,” the boy pushed back with his heels until he was huddled with the girl, “Please-“  
  
Then the curtain was moved back, making Blaine blink hard as the rising sunlight fell harshly in the room and caught the striking blond hair of the two children.  
  
“Warbler,” Thad was masked, as were all the other Dalton crew, but it was still a relief to see the red piping around his eyes. Blaine glanced back at the two children squinting in the light and Thad’s eyes darted to them and back again. “We can’t take them with us, they’ll slow us down.”  
  
“But,” Blaine protested, remembering the screams down the hall. “If the smugglers find them-" he stopped because they all knew what the smugglers would do with children.  
  
Thad gave him a hard, calculating look before glancing at the two small, cowering children. “Eliminate them, then.”  
  
The girl burst into terrified tears and the boy started to shake.  
  
It would be quicker, kinder, than a fate with the smugglers. It was death or something worse than death for them if they were found. But his hands wouldn’t move, couldn’t move, and each second ticked by heavier than the last.  
  
“Warbler-“  
  
 _BOOM!_  
  
This time the sound was the loudest and Blaine was knocked from his feet. The little girl shrieked again and the boy clamped his hand over her mouth  
  
But it wasn’t enough because Blaine heard footsteps outside the bedroom door and a gravelling voice say, “Check the rooms.”  
  
There wasn’t any more time now. He locked eyes with Thad and then-  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
 _“Have you ever come across one of these low-bit, so-called freelance hero groups? You can usually recognize them by the smell of desperation on their ill-fitting, hand-stitched uniforms made from the same spandex Jane Fonda used to make thousands of sweaty middle-aged baby boomers feel just a little better about their sagging bodies. But instead of inspiring hope among their fellow American citizens, these back alley rescuers have sullied the good name of exceptional synthetic fabrics everywhere.  
  
“Too long have I sat on the side lines and watched these glorified Clark Kent-wannabes leech millions of dollars off of normal people like you and I with promises of protection and instead deliver the same kind of substandard service that we’ve come to expect from the unwashed teenager serving your local Happy Meals. They live in high end penthouses on your hard-earned dime and expect us to bend over backwards and for what reason? Because they happened to win in the genetic lottery?  
  
“Don’t believe me? Next time you see one of those masked losers stumbling in the morning with a stench of overpriced wine and the track marks still fresh on their arms, ask them why they deserve all the fun in life without the work. Why do we suffer while they live their Extra-special life surrounded by Thai hookers and freshly cut Columbian cocaine? It’s not fair to you and it’s especially not fair to me.  
  
“And that’s how Sue, Sees it.”  
  
\- 2009, Lima News Network, Ohio _  
  
  
  
  
  
“Back again, Tinkerbelle?” the police holding cell had been cold and Kurt felt like he had been here for days instead of hours. The chill had seeped into his bones but he refused to shiver as he rubbed at the phantom pressure of the cuffs that had just been taken off.  
  
“My name is Porcelain, thanks.”  
  
“I bet is it,” the on duty sergeant passed the clip board under the chain-link and Kurt signed it with a flourish. “What’d they book you for this time?”  
  
Kurt gritted his teeth but replied, “Trespassing.”  
  
“Again?” the officer raised his eyebrows. “You’re going to have to find another name, you know. You’re on strike, what is? Two?”  
  
“Three,” Kurt corrected and held out his hands impatiently. “Can I have my affects back please?”  
  
There wasn’t a lot in the sealed plastic bag: his handheld GSP, cell phone, and his utility belt and he knew his knives would have been taken.  
  
“Don’t get caught again, alright? Strike four and we got to de-mask you and charge you formally.”  
  
The sun was bright in the sky and Kurt had to squint as he sidestepped a man in handcuffs being forcefully handled towards the door. Kurt shot the man a hard look as he looked Kurt up and down with wide eyes. The officer ignored him, the novelty of seeing a mask and costume had long since worn away for most law enforcement, and tugged at the man’s hands with a laughing, “What, haven’t you ever been to the circus?”  
  
Kurt ignored the quip and started down the street, wishing it was more overcast because he felt like the sun was casting a spotlight. Finally, he spotted a shadowed gap between a bookstore and Chinese restaurant and ducked in out of the street.  
  
He couldn’t exactly blame them for staring. Whenever he saw a fully masked Extra out in the daytime just wandering around like they were shopping, or grabbing a coffee downtown, he tended to stare too. After all, it was dangerous to walk around with a target like that on your head. Some people didn’t want to wait and see if you were a Hero or a Villain, and Kurt knew he walked the line of Flamboyant Side Kick and Bullied Evil Overlord on his best days. He wondered if they were doing it to get noticed, like most hopeful Extras who had come to the city to gain fame or fortune, or if it was just lack of sense.  
  
His own uniform was flashy but subdued unless it was a full moon. However, it was New York and in a pinch, late at night he might pass as just another club-faring youth if he took off his mask. If he did that though, and somebody matched his face to the distinctive cursive _P_ across his lower back—well, it was the mask that kept him from permanent jail time.  
  
He shouldn’t have even been in jail _this_ time.  
  
He knew he should just be glad to be alive- he had gone up again The Saint and _lived_ , for God’s sake as he knew Rachel would tell him later when she read about his narrow escape in the back section of the New York Times (if it even made it in, he had heard about Aural Atrocity moving up from Florida and he suspected that would bump local news). But instead he just felt angry.  
  
It was quicker to take the rooftops home. More dangerous, especially if someone looked up at the wrong time because he knew he technically could be booked for voyeurism or suspicious Scoping, but, he was late. Walking through New York’s early morning foot traffic in full mask and costume wasn’t something that was likely to improve his mood, especially since he was already going to be late for his day job at this point.  
  
He glanced around quickly to make sure no one was watching through a window, then bend his knees and leapt for the third floor window ledge.  
  
( _He didn’t even know he had been in The Saint’s neighbourhood that night. He had been scoping out robberies in Central Park all week but he had gotten tired of sharing the muggings and drug deal busts with every fresh-off-the-train Super Hero without a map. It had seemed like a good idea to stretch his legs and his route, even if it was just out of boredom.  
  
There had been screaming from the building, he remembered that, and he had felt almost gleeful as he tried to pin which window it was coming from. But once inside it had been anything but glee he felt as he walked into a room of sleek, muscled eXtras and a young girl sobbing in the corner of the room.  
  
“What the hell is this?” Kurt recognized The Saint’s signature hair and piercing eyes under the deep blue mask and in a brief moment he felt like he knew what death would be. “Here to save the day or something?”  
  
There had been a laugh, a low sound through the room and Kurt took a few steps back to the window he had entered from.  
  
“My mistake,” Kurt had tried to steady himself, forced himself to not look in the corner where the girl had stopped crying. “I should be going.”  
  
“Not so fast.” Kurt had never heard a recording of The Saint’s voice and he hadn’t expected it to be so smooth, like the purring rumble of a very dangerous cat. His escape had been blocked easily and he had tried to keep a neutral look on his face. Calm, calm, look for a break, all the voices of his mentors came back to him as he had forced his heartbeat to slow down. “I want to take a look at the Hero who had the balls to walk onto my stage.”  
  
Kurt suddenly wished he hadn’t gone with the sequins on black, or that he had listened to Rachel’s call to nix the cape, or that he had decided on something darker, more threatening instead of a classic Phantom-esque white mask. The Saint had been dark, sleek, scary, and the close way he circled Kurt, looking him up and down like he could see every crevice and crack had made Kurt feel small and foolish.  
  
“What do you think?” The Saint had finally looked away from Kurt and looked at the men and women watching with interest and just a little too much tooth. “Do we have room for a specially trussed up eXtra in our next shipment?” He had leaned close to Kurt’s ear as the room laughed again and said, “You’re a little old for our clientele but I’m sure we can find someone who will like your baby face.”  
  
Kurt moved before he could think about it. He was grateful for the bulky cloak sometimes- it hid the holster for his highly illegal blades. He felt the dagger slice through fabric and hit the bone of The Saint’s rib, smooth like butter, but he didn’t even have time to smile before he was tackled from one side.  
  
He could feel the skin bruising in the hard grip as The Saint’s man straddled his waist. In In that brief moment, Kurt knew for certainty that he was going to die, namelessly dumped into international waters after his organs were harvested and sold on the black market. But at least he had drawn blood. At least he had done that.  
  
And he knew that it wouldn’t ever been enough.  
  
But before the man could press onto his windpipe, there had been the sound of breaking glass and a tin smoking canister had rolled into the centre of the room.  
  
“Shit—Move the drugs—Who the hell—“  
  
Kurt might not have been strong enough to overpower The Saint’s men but he was small enough to scramble out of the way of their boots as they stumbled around the room coughing and gagging on the smoke. Kurt was coughing too and his eyes were watering too much to see properly but he kept low and moved quickly across the room to where the girl had been crouched.  
  
She couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, brunette with big brown eyes that were blank when he grabbed at her face. Her body rolled limp into his lap and he tugged her to see her more clearly. He gaped, his hand slipping into something wet and still warm; a gaping knife hole in her stomach. He lurched away, bile in his mouth, and he staggered upright despite the smoke.  
  
There had been more shouting; several navy clad figures came in through the open window. Kurt found himself shoved into the wall, his gloves leaving a bloody smeared handprint on the wall paper.  
  
He had waited until the smoke had cleared somewhat and each breath didn’t feel like he was inhaling glass and rushed the window blindly.  
  
The air seemed crisper, sharper, and painful as he pushed through the men on the fire escape, somehow keeping out of their grasp as he jumped blindly to the next building.) _  
  
He caught the end of the next roof in instinct and pulled himself up slowly. He had ditched his gloves in a trashcan behind a butcher’s shop. They had still been wet with the little girl’s blood and bowel but he was certain no one would think to look for evidence in there. He couldn’t help but rub his fingers together and feeling the phantom slide of it.  
  
 _He_ shouldn’t have been in jail tonight.  
  
He hadn’t even seen the sensors that had tripped the alarm of the high end building and, if he was honest with himself, it had almost been a relief to sit trapped in the electrical field on the front steps until the police had come around to collect him.  
  
Kurt relaxed into the exercise, his stiffened muscles stretching with each jump and swing; his reflexes warming like a cat waking up after a nap in the sun. It may be an illegal way to travel but Kurt was certain the lawmakers were just jealous they couldn’t do the things Kurt could do. If they had ever had the freedom he did, felt the dips and dives and exhilaration of each catch and release, the way gravity and physics was more like a playmate than a barrier, there was no way they would ban him from this.  
  
Each time he pushed off he felt like he was pushing away everything away.  
  
Then, just as he went to jump another railing, wearily eyeing a woman washing her dishes through a window two stories down, something dark blocked out the sun and he glanced up a fraction too late.  
  
“Oh-“  
  
Kurt tried to grab a hold of the fire escape railing he had just launched from but missed. There was a sharp tug on his utility belt as it caught on a metal screw and the pause was enough for Kurt to snag a hold of the bottom railing of the escape.  
  
The other person (a girl, Asian, with pink highlights, punkish yet flattering eye shadow) fared better than him and had managed to grab onto the railing though her feet were dangerously close to stepping on Kurt’s delicate grip.  
  
“A-are you okay?” she sounded horrified as Kurt scrambled to get a better hold. “I’m so s-s-sorry!”  
  
“I’m fine,” Kurt grunted and glanced up, then quickly glanced down. Girls in costumes like that probably shouldn’t be roof leaping without solid colour tights. “Can’t you help me up, please?”  
  
The girl swung herself onto the proper side of the railing and leaned over to grab his wrist. Between the two of them, they managed to get him up and over the railing as well but Kurt swore and cursed in his brain the whole time, promising that he would work harder on his upper body.  
  
“Thank you,” he panted.  
  
“I’m so sorry,” she repeated. Kurt frowned because she wasn’t wearing a costume at all, just a very detailed dress he itched to ask what designer she had gotten it from, and didn’t have a mask. “I was just l-late for class and n-normally I don’t do this sort of th-thing-“  
  
“It’s fine,” Kurt tried to keep from being snippy as he stretched his shoulders, trying to shake the dull ache from them. “Just, watch where you’re going next time.”  
  
“I’m so s-sorry, again,” she seemed to be babbling rather than saying anything important. “D-definitely, I-I’ll watch n-next time.”  
  
Kurt fought the urge to roll his eyes because the girl did seem to be upset and instead just nodded and started on his way again.  
  
Rachel must still be mid-morning workout because when he climbed though the kitchen window all he could hear was her music from her room.  
  
He didn’t have time to shower, he glanced at the microwave as he passed it on the way to his own bedroom, pulling his mask off and putting it in his safe while on autopilot. It wasn’t the first time he had gone into work smelling like a jail cell and he was certain it wouldn’t be the last.  
  
“Dammit,” Kurt cursed as he went to wiggle out of his tight pants and his fingers slipped through a hole on his side. It must have caught on the railing when he had collided with that girl. Kurt swore again because the fabric didn’t stitch back together very well. He supposed it would be a good excuse to make a new outfit. Something that he wouldn’t feel foolish in.  
  
When Kurt had decided to come to New York it was with a goal in mind. Ohio wasn’t a great launching pad for a career in heroism. Oh, sure, sometimes they got lucky with a serial killer, or Columbus had some small time crime lords for gambling and drugs. But New York- that was a whole new league of evil.  
  
Ohio also wasn’t exactly a hot bed for anyone with an eX gene. There had been a few of them, sure, but most people tended to keep it hidden until they were in college, or sometimes, Kurt suspected, they never came out at all. People in small towns like Lima didn’t react well to the news that someone had been born with powers normal people would never have. It wasn’t something they could understand and, more importantly, it wasn’t something they could control.  
  
Kurt had tried his best to keep his head down, letting himself get thrown into dumpsters like the rest of the students at his social level, enduring the morning slushy though he could easily duck. Then his cover had been blown after his disastrous attempt to join extracurricular activities. If kicking the winning field goal so hard he broke the mayor’s windshield five blocks over wasn’t enough to make the other players uneasy around him, the twenty meter basket toss he had sent the head cheerleader on during Cheerio’s practice had been the final proof.  
  
Things didn’t get _easier_ , despite what his father may have thought. If anything, things got _harder_ because now any attempt to fight back against the football team or defend those weaker than him was scrutinized to each tiny little detail.  
  
“We’re just worried,” Ms. Pillsbury had told him with her wide-doe eyes as she had clutched the results of the personality test all Extras were forced to take when they became of age. “There were a few- warning signs.”  
  
Death of a parent at a young age, bullying, being gay- sure, Kurt had been learning about the biographies of Super Villains in school his whole life. It didn’t mean he felt evil.  
  
He supposed he was lucky his father hadn’t questioned his son’s morals. Then again, the fact that Kurt could lift an SUV over his head without breaking a sweat in junior year had been incredibly handy for business.  
  
However, not everyone at his father’s auto shop had been happy about the revelation. It was cheating, one ex-employee had complained, the way Kurt could cover several miles in the time it took others to travel one. What was the point of non-gifted humans trying to get jobs where they needed physical strength when someone with the eX gene could do the job easier, faster, and with less chance of needing insurance? Legally, no one was allowed to discriminate against Kurt because of his genetic gifts. In reality, he had tucked his government eX-gene registration card behind the seam of his wallet and ticked the NO box on all his job applications.  
  
And, after all, how likely was it that he would have to use his super powers to pour coffee for over privileged university students?  
  
‘Short non-fat mocha chip latte!”  
  
“Non-fat mocha chip latte,” Kurt repeated. His hands were already too busy making a white chocolate triple shot. He glanced at the clock- only thirty minutes into a four hour shift and it felt like half his day already.  
  
“Tall green tea Frappuccino, no whip!”  
  
“Tall green tea Frappuccino, no whip.”  
  
“Quad venti skinny with whip iced caramel macchiato.”  
  
Alright, he consented. Super speed came in handy sometimes.  
  
It wasn’t the glamorous job with a professional super team like he had hoped but it paid the bills and until he had enough successful rescues under his belt as Porcelain, Kurt Hummel was going to have to do his best to scrap by. Rachel was fairing slightly better, her vocal gifts were normal and, for all Kurt sometimes wanted to drop kick her out the window, she never once seemed to care that her roommate used the window more than the door (though she had been pretty angry about the trampled herb garden) or that when he vacuumed under the couch he could do it while she was still sitting on it.  
  
“Actually, I’m not sure my fathers would have let me move to New York like this if you weren’t an Extra,” Rachel had confessed early on. “They chose my birth mother based on her family history of the eX-gene you know, because they wanted me to be special. But, they still insist I’m perfect even without it. Now, can you be a dear and drop these headshots out in Jersey on your way to work?”  
  
“Medium drip!”  
  
“Medium drip,” Kurt sighed in relief as he reached for the cup.  
  
“You should take a break now,” his blond co-worker said during the small breather (Sam, dyed hair, tragically straight). “Before Mercedes and I swap shifts.”  
  
“Medium drip?” he called and passed the hot cup carefully to the cute yet harried student waiting for it. He glanced back at Sam and said, “I’ll be back in ten.”  
  
“Take your time,” Sam said, slipping smoothly into Kurt place to take over. The flow of young customers who were lugging hip shoulder bags and even hipper backpacks full of textbooks hadn’t slowed a bit since Kurt had started and he knew Sam had started around four that morning, a shift that normally made Kurt as moody as he could get without being fired. But Sam never seemed to mind what hours he worked.  
  
There wasn’t much of a break room in the coffee shop, just a small room between the office and bathroom that had a folding chair and several dozen cardboard boxes with paper cups and coffee grinds they had arranged into a makeshift table. It smelled overwhelmingly like tuna which was what Sam had probably eaten on his break and Kurt wrinkled his nose.  
  
He sat down and suddenly it was like someone had pulled a drain somewhere in his body. All the adrenaline he had been running since meeting The Saint ran straight out of his body. His arms felt numb, his tongue was slack and suddenly heavy in his mouth. Even his hair felt tired. He reached for his phone, he would have to set an alarm or he might sleep through his shift, but his hands met empty pockets.  
  
He thought frantically back to when he had it last: the police station. And from then he was certain he had tucked it into Porcelain’s pant pocket. Had he forgotten it at home? It was unlikely because his father wasn’t far from the truth when he joked about how the phone was almost surgically attached to his hand. He ghosted his hands over his pocket against, just in case, but then suddenly remembered doing the same motion before his shower.  
  
The collision, the rip along the pants; his phone was probably lying at the bottom of some dirty alley with a cracked screen.  
  
He kicked at the chair and the metal crumbled like it was made from aluminum foil.  
  
[Part II](http://gsmaxfic.livejournal.com/10311.html#cutid1)

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

  


 

_“I can’t say my parents were happy when we got the tests back. I mean, I think they always suspected, but as long as no one said anything it was like nothing was wrong. But then I turned eighteen and it’s illegal to hide stuff like this and my father finally brought it up. I was happy at first. It was a relief to have everything out in the open. The jerks at school finally realised when I threatened to make them eat their own testicles with a spoon I was going to weave from their back hair I could actually follow through. My parents- they didn’t treat me any differently, not really, but whenever I started to talk about joining support groups they just shut down. But, still, I was lucky. But then, I guess, my grandmother didn’t take it well. She kept on going on and on about nothing like this had ever happened in the family before, about how I couldn’t be her blood granddaughter if I was like this because if it’s genetic then it wasn’t scientifically possible. My grandmother, the woman can’t even program her TV and suddenly she’s the expert on recessive genes and shit. Sorry. Anyway, I got put in the registry, finished my last semester and got out of there, came here and San Fran eX House helped me to get into college, find an apartment, and move on with my life._

_“Anyway, what did you say this project was about, B? You’re not going to show this to anyone right?”_

_“It’s not even turned on. See, if I push this button-“_

_\- 2011, testimonial from S. Lopez on San Francision’s eX Support Project_

 

When he had ordered the coffee it was because he hadn’t even been able to take a short nap in the house Dalton kept as both their cover as a fraternity and as a place for their operatives to stay if needed. The second he and Thad had made it back to the building, their hostages in tow, Wes had ordered them to clean up and Blaine to report for a debriefing. He had been hoping the coffee would keep him alert but his stomach was knotted to drink anything.

The Dalton Headquarters were a maze of metal rooms under the NYU library, hidden behind an official NYU club door. The two entrances could only be opened by blood relatives of the original members, something that Blaine had found out when he was only in grade school, visiting Cooper with his parents.

“One day, you’ll be a part of this too, honey. Go on, try the door,” his mother had pushed him forward. The hand-shaped screen was easily double the size of his as he had laid his palm flat.

“Ow!” Blaine hadn’t expected the sharp prick on the centre of his hand and he had jerked back but not before a drop of blood had landed on the scanner.

“You’re supposed to keep your hand there the whole time, squirt,” Cooper had laughed and grabbed his wrist, forcing Blaine’s hand on it again. Blaine had tried to not struggle because he hated it when Cooper said things like that.

Now he didn’t even flinch when the computer took a blood sample but he still hated the cold, clinical feel of the hallway as he walked down it. Sure, some of the rooms had a warm touch to them. The other entrance was more cave-like and had torches lighting the walls. “Mad scientist or evil lair,” Wes had said proudly during Blaine’s orientation. “We can offer whatever image our clients want.”

It was more akin to Evil Corporation than Mad Scientist Laboratory, Blaine thought as he turned down another hallway before reaching the door Wes had told him to go to, but that appealed to a certain kind of clientele as well.

The boy looked almost peaceful on the metal bed. If it weren’t for the cuffs on his wrists and ankles, and the hard looking drip attached to his arm, Blaine would think he was just sleeping.

The girl, however, looked anything but peaceful. She was curled up in the corner, her arms tights around her knees and still in the pink pajama pants and white tee-shirt she had come in with. Her hair was messy and her face was red-splotched with dried tears down her round cheeks. She didn’t say anything to Blaine when he walked in but she stared at him like he was a character on her TV set.

“Hi,” Blaine said, trying to smile nonthreateningly, but she kept staring blankly and he sighed before setting the now-cold coffee on the bedside table.

Wes shouldn’t be much longer though Blaine knew he liked to make his minions sweat. Blaine moved closer to the bed to take a closer look at the boy. The drugs were keeping him asleep for now though Blaine wondered how long they could keep doing it without causing irreparable damage. The needle was too large for his arm, they didn’t typically have things for children in the infirmary, and the tape holding it in place was curling at the edges. Blaine moved forward to press it down as the door opened.

“Warbler,” Wes always insisted on their codename, even if they were in the headquarters and Blaine resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Master Gavel.”

“This,” Wes sighed and Blaine was surprised to see him so tired. “This is a problem, Warbler.”

“I- yes,” Blaine stuttered a little.

“This is a problem because this isn’t something we normally do,” Wes gestured around the room and Blaine looked around obediently but could quite see what Wes was talking about.

“We’ve had kidnappings before,” Blaine said hesitantly. “I mean, last December we held the French Ambassador’s daughter for ransom and she was only five-“

“I don’t mean we don’t have the facilities,” Wes snapped. “I mean, Dalton hasn’t independently staged a crime since 1845 when Rudolph Bestivianova tried to hijack a stagecoach in 1835 but instead ended up saving the life of that Italian princess and received over a million dollars in precious jewels as a reward.”

“Wasn’t that a good payoff though?”

“No, Warbler,” Wes cut him off with a furious look. “How many times do we have to go over this? We’re not in this for the _wealth.”_

“Gavel, it really wasn’t my fault this time-“

“It’s never your fault,” Wes said, looking uncharacteristically tired. “Yet you always seem to be in the centre of all my headaches.”

Blaine didn’t have a good answer to that. It was true. Technically. Blaine hadn’t meant to let the Bronx zoo heist go sideways but when they had gone to poach the ivory straight from the source, the baby elephants had just _distracted_ him, that was all. And the French ambassador’s daughter, well, she had just wanted an ice cream. How was Blaine to know he was going to be tagged and tracked back to the hideout?

However, when their latest client had approached them for this heist, stealing from drug smugglers and child kidnappers; Blaine had been out of his chair volunteering as decoy for that one. How could they think Blaine was trying to mess that one up?

“Luckily for you, science is on your side this time.” Blaine couldn’t help but sigh in relief. “We’ve run the boy’s blood and he has an eX.”

“That’s good. Or bad. Wes, what he did in there wasn’t just the eX-gene. I mean, we were dead; there was nothing Thad and I could have done. But then he-“

“-stopped time,” Wes finished with a frown. “I know, Objector made sure we ran the tests twice. Why else do you think we’ve taken these measures?”

Blaine looked again at the still, pale boy.

“We’re running more tests and I’ve got people looking into instances like this happening before but we’ve got to keep it quiet for now. The last thing we need is to look greedy. The Chang job is tonight and they’ve been very vocal that they don’t tolerate groups that skim off the top, or groups that dabble in areas where they don’t belong,” Wes frowned but it wasn’t at Blaine. “As if a professional operation like Dalton would cheat like that.”

“We are evil villains, Wes.”

“That’s Master Gavel to you,” Wes corrected. “And we’re evil villains but we do have standards. Now, come on. We’re going to try and ransom the girl back to their family and I’m going to let you handle it.”

“Me?” Blaine protested. “I’ve never done anything like that before!”

“It’s about time you start living your family legacy. And besides, think of it as reparation for the French ambassador.”

“You saw the kind of place that family was living.” Blaine glanced at the little girl who was still staring at them with wide eyes. “They aren’t going to be able to afford a ransom for one, let alone two.”

“Once we figure out what’s wrong with the boy we can name our price on the black market. Or keep him as one of our own. It’s been a long time since we’ve added new blood into the Dalton pool.”

“But the girl-“

“If the family can’t pay, I’m sure someone will,” Wes said breezily as he turned to go. Blaine tried to keep his face schooled but from the way Wes narrowed his eyes he knew the other boy had seen him flinch. “Come on, Sassy is getting the family’s details now.”

“Trent really needs a new name. I keep on thinking you have a pet cat or something.”

***

_“This is a photograph taken at the 1982 Hipster v. Mississippi trial, which took place after twelve senior eX-gene expressers (the eX-gene was only recently discovered in 1979 by a Belgian research team) took to the streets in a two-month masked caper crusade against local crime lords and pickpockets. This case is groundbreaking for legal precedent everywhere because of its contributions for eX-gene civil rights groups across the country, especially in areas of Alter Ego Rights, the Justification for Heroic Acts Bill in 1997, and defining Heroes and Villains in the federal criminal codes. It also led to severe restrictions for eX-gene carriers to carry any sort of object intended to be used as a weapon, as well as the much disputed eX-gene registry system which is currently in place in 43 states.”_

\-- P81 ex-Gene Rights and Freedoms in the Southern States, A History of America, 2003, Oxford Press

 

 

 

There had been a lull about half way through Kurt’s shift but as morning classes let out the stream of students barely hanging on to consciousness flooded the café. Sam had been replaced by Mercedes and by the time Kurt’s shift was coming to a close even the fun quips he made with his co-worker were feeling strained and tired.

“Short soy caramel macchiato,” Kurt placed the drink on the counter, glancing at the clock ticking down the minutes to the end of his shift from the corner of his eye, when a hand suddenly gripped his wrist. He jerked in surprise, almost spilling the drink over himself but managed to steady the cup with lightening reflexes.

“You!” he exclaimed when he saw the pink highlights. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“You need to help me.” Kurt tried to tug out of her grip but she held on tight. “Please.”

Her voice was steady, any trace of a shutter was gone now, and Kurt found he couldn’t look away from her even if he tried. He swallowed hard, it felt like the café had gone quiet, and he could strangely feel his heart throbbing loudly where her hands rested on the inside of his wrist.

“Okay,” he said, slowly. “What do you need? Non-fat mocha?”

“I know who you are.” Kurt let out a cry as she held out his phone with her other hand and tried to reach for it from across the counter. She pulled it back with a tight smile and said, “You need to come with me.”

“I can’t just leave,” he hissed and glanced to where Mercedes was glaring at him and the line of customers had grown in the few seconds he had stopped. “I’m not off for another hour.”

She released his wrist and Kurt leapt back because it felt like air had just rushed back around him. Kurt couldn’t help but rub at where his skin was tingling but she just nodded and turned to the café, taking a seat where she could stare intently at him.

He glanced at Mercedes and shrugged. “Short soy caramel macchiato?” he called but his voice was a little shaky as he handed it to the impatient girl standing to the side of the counter.

The seconds that had been ticking by slowly now sped much too quickly. It was nerve wrecking to try and make drinks while the girl stared at him and he nearly burned his hand on the steamer. Finally there was a break in the crowd and Mercedes unhappily let him sit down for a few minutes. He was unhappy about it as well but she was staring so intensely that even the customers had taken notice and were asking about her.

“Just get rid of her,” Mercedes said, shooting the girl an angry glare as another customer ran into the door in a haste to leave. “And be quick.”

Kurt untied his apron and couldn’t help but feel like something dark was about to descend upon him.

He was supposed to want that though. Hadn’t all his childhood heroes had a call to glory on a seemingly ordinary day? Maybe this was it, maybe she was from a super group scouting agent like R3NT, or Funny Gurlz, or even, dare he dream, !WICKED!. Maybe she had seen him doing something, like stopping that robbery last week. Sure, the convenience store clerk had pelted him with expired potato chip bags and he had to flee, but the robber had dropped most of the money so Kurt counted it as a success.

But as he approached the table it felt like doom and he subconsciously wiped his hand against his pants.

The girl waited for him and he sat down at the table when she didn’t look like she was going to get up.

“So,” Kurt started. “My phone…”

“Here,” she passed it to him and he touched the screen to make sure it was alright. “I found it after you ran off.”

“Thank you,” Kurt slid it into his breast pocket his time, patting it lovingly. “But you said you needed my help.”

The girl nodded and glanced around the coffee shop warily before leaning in. Kurt glanced around as well but all he saw was the usual crowd of students and aspiring writers typing furiously on their laptops.

“You’re an Extra.”

Kurt shushed her quickly, looking around again to see if anyone had heard. “So are you!”

“Yes, but I’m not, I mean, I don’t really—“ she bit her lip. “My friend is in trouble and I can’t help him. He came to me because he _knows_ about me but I— I just don’t do things like you do.”

“And what exactly do you think I do?” Kurt asked snidely.

“I looked at your phone,” she said quickly. “To see who you were, you know, you contacts and stuff, just so I could return it. I called your roommate, Rachel, and she told me to find you here but—I may have looked at… other things on there.”

Kurt’s mind flew to the awkward flirty attempt he had had with that Gap employee two months ago and his e-mail subscription to eX-ExxxPOSED, and his frequent browsing history to BDSM sites ( _for the fashion!_ his mind squawked loudly).

“I found your fan site, for Porcelain,” the girl continued. “I recognized your costume and saw what you do and—Will you help me?”

Kurt felt flushed and a little angry but this could be the break he needed. This could put the spotlight on Porcelain, finally. Grudgingly, he said, “It depends. What kind of trouble is your friend in?”

“He’s not in trouble, it’s his family,” she scrambled to a pocket on her dress and pulled out a rumpled picture. “His brother and sister went missing. They live in a bad neighbourhood and there was some kind of Extra fight on the top floors. The police said it had something to do with smugglers. Their parents have been in Idaho looking for work but he has a job here so he’s been taking care of them. He was at work and they were home alone when the fighting started. He said their apartment was trashed and when he got home both of them were gone.”

Kurt took the picture from her and he smelled the trace memory of smoke and sliced bowel. The girl didn't have brown hair and she and the little boy had bright blue eyes but Kurt dropped the photo on the table like it had burned.

“How old are they?”

“The girl is six and the boy is eight. They aren’t normally left alone but my friend said the lady who watches them when he’s at work left to run errands while they were still sleeping. The police say there’s nothing they can do right now and my friend is desperate. I promised him I would help.”

“Why do you need me? There are millions of other groups that could help him with this. The Unweds specialize in missing children.” Kurt resolutely looked at the girl’s face and not the photo.

“Yes, but the consultation fee for The Unweds is five thousand dollars,” the girl’s voice was urgent. “Your website said your prices were negotiable and, well, my friend doesn’t live in his apartment building because he makes a lot of money.”

Kurt nodded and gave a mental sigh because if he did decide to do this, his first major criminal foil, of course it would be pro bono. The girl spun it so the faces were the right side up to Kurt.

“I can help, a little. I’ve never trained. Only my parents know about me, and my friend, well, I guess he’s more of this guy who sits beside me on the subway, because I broke this pervert’s foot one day. But I can be back up, or I have a little money—“

“Stop,” Kurt cut her off with a hand wave “You had me with the Stepford twins.” He was surprised at how calm his voice was. “Now, if we are going to be acquainted, I suppose I should know you name.”

“Tina,” she said. “Tina Cohen-Chang. I’m a student, there,” she pointed at the campus across the street. “And my friend’s name is Sam Evans.”

[Part III](http://gsmaxfic.livejournal.com/10609.html#cutid1)

 

 


	3. What You Just Can't Do 3/5

  
  
_NEW DIRECTIONS SIGN UP SHEET_

_Try outs Monday @ 4pm in the Choir Room!!_

_Have you ever felt like there was something missing in your life? That piece of something that makes you special that you just can’t seem to find on your own?_

_Then you should come out to the NEW DIRECTIONS, the revival of McKinley High’s National Winning Glee Club!_

_Come on out and bring your best hip hop, rap, Broadway and Top 40s classics with a dash of enthusiasm! You don’t have to have the eX-gene to be EXtra special!_

_______________________________________

_______________________________________

_______________________________________

_______________________________________

_______________________________________

_______________________________________

_______________________________________

_______________________________________

_Please see Mr. Schuster in the Spanish Room for questions and details!_

 

 

 

Wes had wanted Blaine to do the ransom as detached from the Dalton name as possible. If possible, he had said, Blaine was to try and make it seem like it had been Adrenaline’s ransom, the smugglers who had been camped out at the apartment in the first place.

“No Dalton masks,” Wes had said as he handed over the pre-paid phones with voice scrambler, all the other things Blaine would need. “No uniforms, no codenames. Just make contact with the family, give them the ultimatum and the deadline. If they don’t abide by it or get the police involved then we already have a few bids out for the girl.”

Blaine had taken the supplies with a sick twist in his gut. “What if they try and rescue her themselves?”

Wes had laughed. “If they manage to drag some slow-witted wannabe hero into the mix with whatever money they can get, kill the imposer and tell them the deal is off. If they can find enough money to convince an Extra to help then they can find enough money to pay our ransom.”

It wasn’t even a large ransom, as ransoms go, but it wasn’t an amount of cash most families had just lying around their apartments. He wondered what the family would think about being ransomed back their daughter and not their son. He had snuck the phone and the ransom letter into the apartment. It had only been a few hours since Adrenaline had torn through the ground floor of the building so there were plenty of police to avoid. Blaine went in his own clothes which usually made Wes cringe. However, Blaine hadn’t exactly volunteered for this heist so he didn’t care much about what Wes “Master Gavel, Master Douche” Montgomery thought about his checkered bowtie.

He rarely ever got the opportunity to come back to the scene of a crime and he couldn’t help but realize how much damage they had caused now that the sun was out.

He could see the blown windows on the top floor where they had set off smoke bombs that were more bang than boom to distract the smugglers. It had been a routine job. They were to set off the bombs in the rooms with rear access windows because their information had placed the drugs in the interior. Blaine had been supposed to go in before the others and act as a decoy because his strength lay in his speed and reflexes, not so much strength like other members of the team.

Dalton heists normally went by the letter: Theo and the extractor teams would package the drugs, taking out any guard detail still left behind, and then head to the roof where the helicopter would land and take them off. Blaine would lead the guards as far away as he could until the goods were secure than Thad would provide a hole for him to escape.

But there had been something wrong and Blaine had known it from the moment he had stepped into the room. The tension had been too high, everyone had been alert and on hair-trigger though they had been facing the wrong direction. Instead of being a decoy, Blaine had found himself diving face first into wall of steely fists and he had only barely managed to escape ahead of the pack.

The ground floor didn’t look like it had much damage from the outside except for the broken window and bent bars Thad had come through.

He remembered being in the apartment, his heart pounding, the scared-wide eyes of the kids and the girl’s scream through her brother’s hand. He remembered the smell from the smoke bombs, the echoing of the doors as Adrenaline hacked their way through the building.

And he remembered when the very air around him stopped.

It had felt weird because there was a stillness he had never experienced before. He hadn’t realized how much space he occupied, how much noise he made, until the world had gone silent and it had been him, Thad, and the two kids alone in the world.

“You- you can help us?” the boy’s hands had been clutching his sister’s mouth so hard his little knuckles had turned white.

“Are you doing this?” Thad had demanded, coming in through the window with his eyes darting around. “What the hell is going on?”

“Yes,” Blaine had said, licking his lips because he suddenly felt very dry. “I’ll help you.”

They had made it out of the window and down three blocks of hauntingly frozen faces of people who had been panicking at the explosions. Then, suddenly, the boy’s eyes rolled back in his head and Blaine had only barely managed to keep him from hitting the ground as the world sprung back to life around them.

The outside of the building may have been mostly intact but the inside was still a mess. Blaine snuck through the police lines so easily it was laughable and left the envelope on the bed.

People were still being interviewed and some were still being stitched in an ambulance on the curb. Blaine wondered who would be responsible for the kids. He had thought it would be easier to tell but everyone seemed to be shaken. A woman still had her bathrobe and curlers in as she spoke angrily to a police officer. A blonde boy that looked to be Blaine’s age was shouting at another officer. Blaine knew he shouldn’t stay long. He made sure to shake his head at it and throw in a few anti-Extra comments with other observers so he wouldn’t seem like he was anything other than a concerned passerby then quickly retreated down the street.

There wasn’t any reason to go back to Dalton so he idled around town, looking at commission shops though he was disappointed with what he found. Pink and black check was so last season, but he ended up buying new pocket square anyway because the clerk looked a little lonely.

Eventually, he found himself yawning as he walked, checking the phone much too often, and decided to try to get some caffeine again. He had drifted back to the campus again and went back to the same coffee place as that morning only this time he took his medium drip in a ceramic mug. The staff looked more harried than usual though it was quieter than it had been that morning. When he ordered his medium drip in his usual cheery, empathetic, it-must-be-hard-to-work-in-the-service-industry voice, the barista nearly took his head off. He collected his drink quickly after that and hurried to one of the last free tables along the wall.

Someone had forgotten their bag at the table he went to sit at and he idly thumbed through the wallet. There wasn’t much there, only some cash, a photo of a fat cat with a bow on its head and some credit cards. He pulled out the photo and looked on the back: _Mrs. Miggles, Christmas ’95,_ and then dialed the number on the If Found ID card behind the photo. He left a message explaining he would leave the bag with the Lima Bean counter staff, tucked the wallet back in the bag, zipping it up so nothing would fall out, and brought it to the barista who gave him a strange look but was too busy to ask any questions.

The phone still hadn’t rung and he spun it in a circle on the table. How could Wes think he was messing up jobs on purpose? He was an _Anderson_ , for Heaven’s sake! His nanny had been a trained assassin. His parents had a picture of him in his baby seat at the infamous Ginza Bank heist. He was the Copper Caper’s little _brother_ and had been tagging on along on Cooper’s jobs since he had been old enough to crawl through air ducts and repel through skylights.

He was through and through _evil_ , he thought as he jumped to hold the door open for an elderly woman in a walker trying to get though. And he had the pedigree to prove it.

“Thank you, young man,” the woman said gratefully. “Those doors get heavier every day.”

“Think nothing of it, ma’am,” Blaine said. “Helping beautiful women makes my life that much brighter.”

He shouldn’t have to prove himself to Dalton, and he was going to write Wes a strongly worded letter as soon as this job was done.

Just as he was composing his opening paragraph _(Dear Wes, it has come to my attention that there had been some doubt over my dark loyalties. I must say, I am truly hurt over the discrimination I’ve been feeling and I propose another attempt at a trust circle. I’m certain that with the right enthusiasm we can avoid spinal injuries this time.)_ when the cellphone finally buzzed at 10:30am on the nose.

Blaine snatched it up but forced himself to wait for it to ring three times before he answered.

“Hello?” he asked, hoping it wasn’t a wrong number.

“ _We’ve received your note._ ” Blaine started; he hadn’t been expecting a voice like that. He had thought it would be someone older, someone more parent-like. “ _We want to know that the children are okay.”_

“They’re fine,” Blaine was grateful for the voice scrambler. “But they won’t be until we get what we want.”

“ _Look,”_ the voice was steely. _“We want to know that they are both okay. Your note only mentions Stacy and we want to make sure Stevie is fine as well.”_

Blaine paused before saying, “Let’s talk about Stacy right now.”

There was a scuffle in the background, like something large was being dragged away, and then the sound of a door closing.

_“Tell me,”_ the voice was slow, and crawling deeper, _“what happened to the boy.”_

“They are both alive and well but we have plans for the boy,” Blaine said, feeling nervous for a moment. “The girl, she’s of no use for us so we thought we’d do you a favour and offer her back. You, uh, did read the terms of the ransom right? This isn’t the police is it?”

There was a long pause before the voice answered, _“Of course this isn’t the police. What do you think we are, stupid?”_

It may not be the police but it definitely wasn’t the family, Blaine’s heart sank. He hated it when he had to murder someone.

_“What do you mean you have plans for the boy?”_

The phone call was lasting much too long. “We want the money by noon tomorrow. The drop off instructions will be texted to your phone tomorrow.”

Blaine hung up the phone and let out a deep breath.

It wasn’t fair. He thought back to the little girl in the room with the TV eyes. Maybe if he had just left them-

There had to be another way. It wasn’t like he had to uphold the Dalton tradition on this. After all, wasn’t that what Wes wanted? Something that was as far detached from Dalton as possible?

Standard procedure was like what Wes had said. Give the demand. Collect the demand. Kill the hostage if the police get involved. Kill the hostage and the family if an Extra gets involved. Simple. Easy. _Trademark._

But- that wasn’t Blaine, right? Simple. Easy. That had never been Blaine’s trademark and that was how he had been stuck with this assignment anyway.

Maybe- maybe he could throw away the book just this once. It wasn’t like someone was looking over his shoulder. No one was going to rat him out if he fudged his report a bit. That was probably why Wes had assigned him to him. Everyone was tired of tracking his every move to make sure it was corrected, that all the ts and is were crossed and dotted, that all the bodies were buried to just the right depth. But this wasn’t a heist that needed precise measurements when they hacked off fingers to send to family members.

This, he could feel the grin on his face before he consciously reminded himself that it was unbecoming of an Anderson to be so gleeful, didn’t have to be a heist at all. He could- yes, he totally could just-

All Dalton wanted was money, Blaine stared into his coffee. They wouldn’t look into the means. And as long as they got it, the girl at least could go back to her family, safe and sound. There was no way the family could afford it, not with the place they had been living in. But Blaine- well, he couldn’t dip into his bank account for that without his parents trying to make sure it wasn’t another anonymous donation to Save the Children. But something else, some other money that was going to be in a heist anyway, if he could get a hold on that, pay the ransom without Dalton any wiser, make the family think the kidnappers weren’t as awful as they thought, getting their daughter back for free… The boy, Blaine would feel some regret, but-

It was a plan. It was still kind of evil, he reasoned slightly. It was still stealing money, technically.

And if it worked, he wouldn’t have to clean any more blood off his cardigans.

“Excuse me.” Blaine glanced up (and up). “Is this seat taken?”

The young man was tall, attractive, and Blaine heartily approved of his vest. He didn’t stop the grin this time; his luck was definitely on the rise.

“Please, sit,” Blaine’s heart fluttered a little as the man sat, his smile tentative. He always thought it would be romantic to find love in a coffee shop.

“Thank you,” he slid into the seat with the grace of a dancer and Blaine couldn’t help but toy with the phone, glancing across the table through his eyelashes.

“Do you come here often?” he asked, spinning the phone suggestively but the other boy hardly seemed to notice.

“You’re the Warbler, right?”

The phone spun out of control and clattered to the ground. They both reached for it at the same time, knocking the phone further out of reach in their hurried politeness before the other boy managed to grab it and return it to Blaine with a wide grin.

“Thanks, uh, what? Warbler? What kind of crazy name is that?” Blaine flushed as he tucked the phone safely in his pocket. “That’s crazy. You’re crazy!”

“Sorry,” the boy leaned in and dropped down an octave. “My name is Mike Chang. My father is meeting with the rest of Dalton now-“

Blaine was tempted to clap a hand over the boy’s face because, Jesus, Dalton wasn’t a secret underground society because they had casual conversations with strangers in coffee shops! Instead, he clamped his own lips together, shaking his head tightly until Mike Chang trailed off with an adorably confused look.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ex- _nay_ on the _alton_ -Day,” Blaine hissed through clenched teeth.

“What?”

“ _Top-say alking-tay_ about _alton-Day.”_

“Is that- what language are you speaking?”

_“Eet-may_ me in the _ashroom-way_ in _en-tay inutes-may.”_

“Is that Pig Latin?”

“Just- come with me,” Blaine stood up quickly and grabbed the boy’s arm. He grabbed the washroom key hanging near to the pickup counter and ignored the sideways look the barista was giving him as he dragged the much larger Mike Chang down the small hallway and pushed him into the small single washroom. Mike nearly tripped over the toilet as Blaine shut the door quickly behind them and locked it before turning on the light.

“Um, look, if you’re not the Warbler then I’ve got to say up front that while I respect and support the LGQT lifestyle, my interests are-“

“You’re Mike _Chang?”_ Blaine hissed.

“Uh, yeah, that’s what I said-“

“Because I’m officially on not official Dalton business right now! I can’t be seen with you!”

“What- that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Of course it does,” Blaine snapped. “I’m supposed to be doing something that can’t be connected to Dalton and your family is having a secret meeting with Dalton that needs to be kept unwraps, so by you being here-“

“-will mean nothing,” Mike cut in. “I thought of that already. Technically, neither of us is working for Dalton right now, right? I thought this way it’s just a friendly meeting.” Blaine flushed as Mike said quickly, “Not _friendly_ friendly, I just mean, you know, I’m seeing you right now- b-but not _seeing_ seeing you! I’m just-“

“Okay, stop,” Blaine held up his hands in defeat. “I think we’ve established your _interests.”_

“Master Gavel told me to find you!” Mike said quickly, his face still red. “They are finalizing their plans for the money transfer at the New York First Bank tonight and I have nothing left to do for it. He told me he doesn’t like idle hands.”

“You can tell Wes that I don’t need a babysitter,” Blaine frowned.

“I’m pretty sure it’s the other way around,” Mike said glumly. “My father asked Wes to find me something to do that's not, uh, underfoot.” Blaine felt a sudden stab of sympathy. “I can help,” Mike continued. “I’m not the strongest Extra in the world but I’m fast. And flexible.”

Blaine had to bite his tongue as he stole a glance up Mike’s torso and thought, _I bet you are._

But no, he shook his head slightly to get rid of those images. He had a _vision_ , a bloodless, yet still kind of evil _vision._ And the son of the Chang family wasn’t going to go for something that might turn out to be a casual bank job with a Robin Hood mentality.

On the other hand-

Blaine looked Mike up and down again, taking in the eager look on his face, his broad shoulders and muscular arms (then had to subsequently push aside certain images again), and suddenly more of his plan started to unfold.

“Exactly how flexible are we talking?”

***

Tina and Kurt had made to Sam’s apartment in record time. Mercedes hadn’t been impressed when Kurt told her he had a sudden, family emergency _(“I thought you said your family was from Ohio?”_ she had glanced Tina up and down suspiciously) but his shift was going to finish in half an hour anyway and most of the rush had died off.

There had still been police cars when they arrived at the apartment and Kurt had turned his head away quickly when he had spotted one of his arresting officers from last night standing by a squad car and yawning into his elbow.

_“This_ is where Sam lives?” Kurt had hissed.

“I told you,” Tina had shot him an annoyed looked. “His father lost his job, they’ve been living on whatever Sam makes.”

Kurt didn’t reply but he tried to keep from staring too hard at the broken windows on the top floor.

They found Sam arguing with a police officer near one of the entrances of the building which was blocked off by yellow tape.

“I told you,” there was something wild and desperate in Sam’s face and Kurt felt something heavy in his stomach. “They were in the apartment when I left, sleeping! They would never wander off on their own!”

“And I’ve told you, we’ve caught all the members of the smugglers, and the kids they had with them. None of those kids are your brother or sister.”

“But-“ Sam was clutching at his hair, disheveled, his face pinched and strained. He barely looked like the boy that had left shift that morning. “They-. Someone must have-“

Kurt had to look away for a moment, his eyes were stinging and his breathing a little tight, and he scrutinized the gathered crowd around the building. There was nothing suspicious, he noticed desperately. Everyone seemed like they belonged: occupants in tears, witnesses waving their arms in increasing frustration, and several passersby sneaking glances with barely hidden curiosity and relief. Not a blond haired child in sight.

Kurt found himself wishing it would be that easy.

“Sam,” Tina reached for him and he jumped, nearly elbowing her in the face.

“Tina,” there was a break in his voice, that moment that Kurt could almost hear him sigh in relief, and the heavy pressure on his shoulders increased.

“This is-“

“-Kurt?” Sam jerked back, wiping at his eyes. “What- I thought Tina was getting-“

“I can help,” Kurt said and his eyes darted to the officer, who had already moved away, out of earshot. “I’m…” Kurt shrugged. Sam just stared at him like he was seeing him for the first time and, unlike Kurt who had felt off tilter seeing Sam without an apron on, he smiled ( _with relief_ , Kurt thought nervously) and pulled him into a tight hug.

He had come back from work to find the upper story of their building on fire, Sam told them in clipped sentences. The police had already blocked access when Sam had arrived after his shift. He had searched frantically though the hallowed eyes of the people that had been evacuated. There had been a few children without any parents, cute, small, and scared but they had been whisked away before Sam could get a good look at them.

“They’re not in there, I don’t think. I called, but they didn’t answer. Even if they’re hiding I know Stevie would come out if I called him,” Sam shot a harsh look at the officer. “They’ve been taken somewhere, I just know it.”

Kurt hoped, for Sam and his family’s sake, Stevie and Stacey were somewhere in a ditch or at the bottom of a lake. A quick death was better than what The Saint’s gang would have had in store for them.

“Let me check,” Kurt glanced around to make sure no one was overhearing them. “I’ll just be a minute and maybe I can find something in the apartment the police missed.”

It was easy to slip around the yellow tape. Most of the officers looked run down and tired, and the building’s residents looked like they were a handful on the best of days..

The bars to the apartment Sam had pointed out where bent, like someone had pulled them apart to climb through. Kurt slipped in easily, trying his best to not leave fingerprints. He wished he had his gloves but they were rotting in a dumpster right now and he tried to push away the memories sparked by that thought. The room didn’t look too out of place. The door was broken at the handle but it looked untouched and normal.

There was a brown-paper wrapped package on the bed and Kurt tucked it under his vest carefully. He took another sweep of the room but found nothing else so he got out as easily and smoothly as he had come in.

Tina’s place wasn’t far so they went there painfully slow because of Sam. Kurt had been friends with Normals his whole life so he was used to the feeling of the itch in his feet to move faster. But this time it felt even worse because there was something more important on the line than discount Prada at an outlet mall or the last helping of five bean salad (the consequence is missing out being seven bean salad and Kurt wasn’t even sure he should count the other two of those beans as beans).

Tina lived alone so Kurt immediately just opened the package on her table. There was a phone and a slip of paper, typed neatly with no address, just a short message: _We have your daughter. If you would like to see her alive, ready $20, 000US in unmarked bills no larger than fifty ($50) in amount. Contact the police and the girl dies. Contact any other form of help and the girl dies. Comply with our demands or the girl dies. Call XXX-XXX-XXXX by 10:30 am today for more instructions._

“What time is it?” Kurt snapped.

“Ten twelve,” Tina glanced at her clock. “Kurt, what are we going to do?”

“We have to call them,” he said quietly staring at the phone. “Sam, the money-“

But he was already shaking his head, his face pale. “We’ve barely been scrapping by, my parents’ took out a lot of loans just to move to New York and when they fired him right after we got here- I make minimum wage. You make the same as me.” He was looking at Kurt helplessly.

“Let’s just call them at the time.” Kurt’s heart was racing and an unwelcome feeling of dread was coming over him. “And see where it goes.”

Sam let out a breath and looked like he was trying to compose himself. “I just- they’re my brother and sister. I’m supposed to protect them. They trust me.” He looked between the two of them. “And I- God, I did exactly what the note said not to do. I killed them, didn’t I?”

“Don’t talk like that, Sam,” Tina put a hand on his shoulder. “They won’t find out about us,” she glanced at Kurt. “We’re just going to do what they say, there’s no reason for them to know about Kurt and I being, you know. We’re your friends and we want to be here for you.”

Sam jerked away, the lines of his face tense as he stood up and started to pace a little. “But what if-“

“We can’t deal with ‘what ifs’,” Kurt said sharply because they had little time and a lot to do. “If it comes to it at least Tina and I can provide some muscle. But if we don’t have to then we won’t. Now, let’s go back to the note. It doesn’t say anything about your brother.”

“Maybe he got away,” Sam said. “Stevie has a way of getting away if he needs to. But he wouldn’t leave Stacy behind, that doesn’t make any sense.”

Kurt and Tina glanced at each other and Kurt frowned. There was no more to be gotten from Sam though.

Whoever the kidnappers were, they knew what they were doing. The phone had no brand or model on it and Kurt was certain if he tried to dial any number other than the one on the paper it wouldn’t go through. The note as well was printed on generic paper, the weight and grain so ordinary it almost screamed inconspicuous.

This definitely wasn’t The Saint. Kurt knew the market value for a girl like Stacy was much higher than the ransom they were asking but he kept his mouth shut and just gave a guilty mental sigh of relief. He should have felt more concern for the girl but the feeling of The Saint’s breath on the back of his face was something he hoped never to face again.

“Sam, sit down. You’re not going to do anything to help anyone by wearing yourself out.” Sam finally turned and sat heavily beside Tina. His hair was messed from where he had been grabbed at it and Kurt would have found it adorable if it weren’t for the reason Sam looked so lost. “Now,” Tina tentatively took his hand and then clasped her other hand over his when he gripped tightly back. “We’re going to do everything, possible, do you hear me? Kurt is a professional. He can get them back for you. I promise.”

Kurt was grateful for the confidence but he really wished Tina had left him a little room for failure.

“It’s time,” Kurt said, hoping his voice wasn’t quivering as much as his hand was. “Sam, just stay calm, okay?”

Kurt knew he probably shouldn’t have put the idea of panic in Sam’s head. It didn’t matter that he didn’t put the phone on speaker, the room was deadly silent and Sam’s face was white and riveted on each word that Kurt and the electronically scrambled voice on the other end were saying.

When the kidnapper refused to talk about Stevie, Tina had to wrestle Sam from the room (an image that would have been hilarious under other circumstances because she could barely wrap her arms around his torso yet she could carry him and muffle his voice like he was a puppy).

_Keep them on the line, get them to reveal as much as possible,_ Kurt remembered from the underground workshops he attended every time he saw a flyer on the street. _Keep them calm, keep them talking and let them keep the power but remember, let them know you’re a person-_

Kurt was grateful they were the ones to hand up because he wasn’t sure he could have reached for the end button if he tried.

Tina must have been holding Sam back until Kurt was finished because the second he flipped the phone closed, Sam burst back into the room, the white gone from his face because he was blazing red fury.

“You have no _right-“_

_“Sam,_ ” Kurt cut him off as gently as possible. “I have a plan. But I’m going to need one thing.”

[Part IV](http://gsmaxfic.livejournal.com/10964.html#cutid1)   
  



	4. What You Just Can't Do 4/5

  
  
So maybe the sweater vest was a weird, especially on a uniform that was supposed to cast fear into the hearts of his victims. But Blaine had been waiting for _ever_ to use this particular uniform, ever since he was a little kid daydreaming in his private school’s Assassination 101 class. It was close enough to plain clothes that he could walk around virtually undetectable but with enough impact resistant fibers running through the weave that he was certain he could withstand a bus. Well, maybe a car. Mini Cooper at the very least. In any case, it had felt strange getting into this outfit in his Dalton dorm room because usually he felt like each layer of his regular navy armor had a costumed ritual in place. This time, it had felt eerily like just getting ready for the day.

Mike had opted for something traditional in plain black combat pants and a black tank top but Blaine had to stop him when he pulled the black silk mask from his pocket.

“I told you, we can’t use those on this mission.”

“Look, Blaine-“

“My codename is The Dapper Gentleman,” Blaine paused and spread his hands for affect, already seeing the name on the headlines. Mike just gave him a blank look.

Blaine sighed because it felt like Mike just wasn’t getting into this at all. “We need the masks,” Mike frowned. “It’s the only thing protecting us from Guantanamo if we get caught on cameras.”

“That’s the beauty of it,” Blaine explained again, patiently. “If we go like this, showing our _true colours,_ if you will-“

“-do I have a choice-“

“- then if we do get caught, _which we won’t_ , it can’t be Guantanamo. Guantanamo is for Villains. We are but simple thieves.”

“Simple thieves trying to steal twenty grand from a major American bank.”

“From a major American bank _heist,”_ Blaine corrected. “It was already going to be stolen anyway.”

Blaine tried to stretch out his legs, they were getting cramped from their position, but it was a tricky thing to do when you were balancing on two inches of window siding over a forty story drop onto New York’s nightlife. He didn’t know how Mike was faring but the taller boy didn’t complain.

“I still don’t understand how stealing this money is related to a kidnapping.”

“It’s part of Wes’s plan.” Blaine figured out how to let hit foot dangle without tipping over the edge.

“How is skimming off the top of one of their own heists to pay for a ransom fee they are demanding themselves part of Wes’s plan?”

“Do you question everything your father does?”

“Well, not _everything_ but-.”

“And so he sent you out _here,_ Mike, because you’re always asking questions. Look, Mike, I get it, I really do. But something about you has overcome the blood ties our families have held sacred for the last several generation and now, instead of accepting you, with checkered vests and broccoli hair and the fact you raised one box of kittens in your closet when you were seven-“

“-uh-“

“-they’ve cast you aside like yesterday’s garbage!”

Blaine flushed as Mike just raised a silent eyebrow.

“Life is made up of these moments when you have to decide for yourself if you want to hide behind what people think of you or try to be who you want them to see you as. Stop questioning people because you aren’t going to find the answers you need to know from other people. You have to question _yourself,_ Mike. Really ask yourself what lines you are willing to cross.”

Mike carefully pulled out his mask and tied it on. “My questioning self is pretty comfortable with hiding behind this mask tonight.”

“Suit yourself,” Blaine huffed.

The plan was simple. The money was being moved at exactly midnight. There would be a transition from the vault to the NY Stock Exchange in physical money, something Blaine had learned was unusual even when he had been in diapers. When he had asked Mike why, Mike had shrugged and said something about his father creating a setup, some kind of business deal between an American company with less than stellar motives and a company in Hong Kong that wanted to look the other way.

It wouldn’t ever be venerable at any time: fully stocked armed vehicles, armed guards, plain-clothed hidden armed guards, armed guards that were hidden like Blaine and Mike were in black in the shadows, armed guards for the armed guards just in case there was a double cross.

But Blaine knew from experience there was always a space no one was paying attention to as much as they should be. In this case Blaine had spotted it easily. While the bulk of what he assumed would be a more than a fifty million transition (based on the size of the armament, the invested interest of Wes, and number of times the main guards didn’t blink as they watched their charges diligently) he could easily spot the other transaction, a secondary payment, taking place not fifty feet away from the trucks.

“Fifty, maybe seventy five thousand,” Blaine said as he tapped the device on his ear to zoom in a little.

“My father is still going to notice if that goes missing,” Mike said. “He’s a very good accountant.”

“We’re going to steal less than a quarter grand,” Blaine had to zoom out a little so he could double check the number of guards. “That’s peanuts in a take like this. Dalton will be so focused on the main money they won’t even think to look at the money changing hands over there. We can be in and out with enough money to cover the ransom before they even realize we were there.”

“I still don’t get _why_ we are doing this-“

“Quick, we need to get into positions. I’ll see you at the _rendezvous.”_

It was going to be simple: a quick distraction from Mike, a slight of hand from Blaine, baffled guards, and happy smiling faces in the end. It would be beautiful in its simplicity, no blood shed on any party, and then Blaine would have the satisfaction of restoring life to the blank little girl’s face.

There wasn’t a real best moment to strike. That would take place in the main heist and Blaine suspected it wouldn’t be for some time. Sure, some schools of villainy taught that the best time to strike was in the height of distraction, use a double strike to get the maximum amount of in the shortest time.

But Blaine had learned that wasn’t always the best way. The kind of plan required skill, timing, precision, and, the element most villains wouldn’t admit to, luck.

This way was better than the textbooks; he had to explain it carefully to Mike because the other boy had been skeptical. Harmonies didn’t work because everyone sang the same note at the same time, he had said. Harmonies worked because they complimented each other with different sounds at different points coming together to blend into something beautiful.

They were simply one brick in the house and the bricks had to be laid one at a time.

Then Mike had gotten annoyed at his mixed metaphors and Blaine had tried to explain it away with something to do with puzzles which had just led to Mike blocking his ears and humming off key.

Still, so far Mike had been an excellent partner. Blaine hoped the guy would be sticking around New York longer.

They were timed to each other so when Blaine hit his mark he knew Mike was positioned on the north corner of the department store across the street. There weren’t many people around at this time of night: an older lady pushing a cart down the street, a group of hunched and hallow-eyed business men shuffling from one of the nearby office buildings to the garage parking, a couple walking slowly down the street to an apartment overlooking a coin laundry. One guard was in the van, the other craning his neck to look at the much larger security team down the road while they waited for the money to be delivered. Protective vests, hand weapons, Tasers- this wouldn’t be as hard as Blaine thought.

He saw a glint from Mike’s position. Blaine straightened from where he was crouched behind the straggly bush.

The guard in the van let out a shout as Mike thumped, an almost invisible black shadow on the hood of the van. The doors to the bank opened, two more bank guards were glancing at the steps in the dim light to keep from falling. The last guard spun, looking towards the driver with a flash of alarm.

It was poetry, only oiled and practiced not organic or sprung from nothingness because from the rock-step Blaine took to spring forward that second faster, to the ease he tugged down and out on the canvas bag so the guards barely realized they had released it, and to the final way his feet found grip, _bounce,_ up on the streetlight to windowsill, all the moves had been drilled relentlessly since he had first toddled to his feet.

It was too easy. Blaine was up and in the air, _bounce, bounce, bounce,_ gravity that had so plagued him that morning suddenly lighter as his muscles coiled and sprung, propelling him up and up and up.

He made sure to be as high as he could go, the wind rushing past his ears making him feel like he was flying. The trick to doing this was to imagine the ground was closer than it was but Blaine had never been good at that. He preferred it this way, higher and higher without the comfort of the ground a safe distance below him.

For a brief moment, Blaine wondered what it would be like to just fall uncontrolled.

Finally he paused on the decorated ledge of one of the glass skyscrapers to catch his breath. He glanced at his watch. Perfect timing. It was almost disappointing.

There was still ten minutes to meet Mike and look at their spoils. Blaine pushed off from the windowsill when he heard a small _whizzz-phuff_ and his heart finally started to race.

***

The plan was a little sporadic but Kurt didn’t have much time, especially for the extra shopping he had to do.

“This is never going to work,” Tina said nervously when they were still a few blocks away from where the transfer was going to happen. “This is a huge thing; it’s going to be massively guarded by security eX-gene holders. Kurt, there’s no way we can do this.”

Kurt forced the memory of last night away. He had to be the strong one today and the heavy weight on the inside of his waist coat was definitely helping.

Carrying a weapon; they weren’t going to wordlessly confiscate that if he was caught by the police again. A lone Super Hero caught in the crossfire of a robbery or tripping an alarm while carrying a concealed knife was one thing. Having a loaded gun while stealing from a bank; Kurt knew if things went wrong this would be the last mission he ever planned.

Kurt could see the guards with the money through the glass door preparing to come out.  
“You keep an eye on those business men,” Kurt glanced over to where a group of tired looking men were crossing the street. “I’m going to do this.”

“Kurt-" Tina started to say but Kurt gave her a hard look and she bit her lip. “Thank you. And good luck.”

Kurt nodded shortly and reached for the black ski mask in his pocket.

_BLAM-_ a shadow darted from a corner and jumped on the top of the van. Kurt froze as the figure paused before they jumped again, off into the darkness.

“Tina--" Kurt was cut off by a shout as another figure, not dark exactly, but too quick to see clearly leapt on the two uniformed guards and then was gone almost as quickly.

“Dammit!” Kurt didn’t even think, he sprang forward and kept his eyes trained on the barely there movement across the sky.

This couldn’t happen, Kurt wouldn’t _let_ this happen. That money was _his,_ that money was for _Stacy,_ and Kurt wasn’t about to let another little girl slip through his fingers.

They kept going higher and higher on the buildings, moving further into the downtown why skyscrapers around them. Kurt rarely found the need to be in this area and never had climbed so high. He kept his eyes on the movement of the man to keep from looking down.

There- the figure had stopped and Kurt managed to cling to a window ledge, bracing his feet on the marbled concrete side. Cautiously, he let go with one hand and reached for the gun tucked away.

He took a leapt a fraction of a second before the other man (because now Kurt could see that it was definitely a man) and wildly he swung the gun up mid-leap and fired.

_BANG,_ the noise was louder than Kurt thought it would be and he was grateful for his fast reflexes as the recoil sent him backwards onto the glass of the building. There was the smell of the smoke and he could see a trail of bills fluttering in the sky.

“Dammit!” the man had landed safely on the building across the street but slid down the slippery side until he managed to catch his hand on a ledge. His feet were scrambling on the side of the building and Kurt decided quickly that this was going to be his moment.

He shot at the glass behind the man before he leapt. He managed to collide with him as they tumbled into the dark building, rolling over crushed glass but Kurt’s heart was racing too much to notice the cuts as he wrestled with the other man.

“Get off me!” the other man growled as Kurt hooked a knee on the back of his thigh and tugged, forcing the lower half of his body to twist. It was a close struggle, the man was strong, almost stronger than Kurt, but an ill-timed moved brought the still hot barrel of the gun on the man’s bare bicep and he flinched under Kurt, giving Kurt time to finally shove his face into the carpet and wrench one of his hands behind his back.

“Yeah right!” Kurt’s heart was racing still, adrenaline pumping through his veins as the man struggled to free himself. “You’re a thief!”

“And you are carrying a gun!” the man spat back. “Who do you think the police are going to want more?”

_“DG, are you there?”_

Kurt and the man froze as the tinny voice sounded from the ear piece.

“DG, I have a problem.”

Kurt was hunched over the man’s back but he sat up slowly, releasing the painful grip he had on the man’s elbow only when he was able to press the hot barrel of the gun right behind the man’s other ear.

“Answer it,” Kurt said slowly.

The man reached for the ear piece, tapping it once lightly before saying, “Yeah, well Twinkle Toes, I’ve got my own problems right now.”

_“I hate that name. But what I mean is, I have some company.”_

“I’m in the same boat,” DG turned his head to the side and Kurt could suddenly see a glitter of his eye. He dug the metal of the gun into the man’s skull and he flinched, turning his head quickly back.

There was a long pause before the ear piece said, _“Yeah. Same boat.”_

And then Kurt’s elation died when he heard a nervous, _“Kurt?”_

“Tell him to let her go,” his voice sounded foreign and deep. “Or it won’t just be the money that’s blown away.”

“Wait!” DG’s body was tense under Kurt’s knees but his voice was calm and steady. “Let’s talk about this. You have me pretty much handled. My partner seems to have yours. Maybe we can negotiate a trade.”

“There is no negotiating,” Kurt said tightly. “Tell your partner to let my friend go and then you give me the money and them you can walk away with your pretty little face intact.”

“Catch that?”

_“Yes.”_

“So what’s it going to be?”

The air was still and even though Kurt could feel sweat on his face, under his clothes itchy against his skin, his mouth was dry. They stayed like that frozen, waiting, until-

“We need that money.”

“ _We_ need that money,” Kurt growled. “There’s a little girl’s life at stake.”

“There’s a little girl’s life at stake for us too,” DG said still calm. “Now, how much do you need? I’m perfectly willing to split this bag up.”

_“Hey—“_

“Not the time, Mike,” DG said quietly.

“Thirty thousand,” Kurt said quickly.

“Okay,” the reply was quick. “That’s fine. Easy. Just let me up and we can count out what we need.”

Kurt stood slowly, watching each movement the man made with careful eyes, and kept his gun close to his temple. If the man was nervous he hid it well as his shifted to his knees and drew the bag to his lap.

The office looked like some kind of lawyers firm. Kurt could see bound papers on the shelves along the wall and certificates hanging where they could. The room was too dark to see much else and Kurt had to take his eyes off DG in order to turn on a lamp. The man didn’t move though. He just waited patiently, looking at Kurt carefully with an almost curious expression.

“What?” Kurt bit out as light flooded the room and he could suddenly see the stark black and white contrast of the decorating scheme.

“Nothing,” the man said quickly. “I just like your bowtie. It’s very Villain meet Don Draper.”

“I’m not a Villain. Hurry up and count.”

The man frowned up did as he was told and upended the bundled money on the carpet. He wasn’t taking his time but Kurt couldn’t stop fidgeting impatiently so he sat behind the desk in the plush swivel chair but kept his gun pointed.

Kurt hated this kind of waiting. There was too much that was happening while he was waiting. Even though he had just met Tina he liked her and the thought of her being held somewhere was making him nervous. They had made Sam stay at Tina’s apartment with the cellphone in case the kidnappers called again but now Kurt had wished he had made Tina stay too. She had no business being out there. She had no training, no desire to be in the front lines like Kurt did and unless things worked out properly he didn’t even know where she was to bring her body home to her parents.

DG sat up slowly from his crouch on the floor with a frown and Kurt sat up, embarrassed at his inattention.

“There’s not enough here.”

“I don’t care, I’ll take what’s there.”

“No, I mean,” DG finally looked frustrated and he shot Kurt a resentful look. “There was supposed to be at least fifty thousand dollars in here. But you shot it and now there’s less than forty.”

“Again, I don’t care,” Kurt kept his voice steely. “I only want thirty.”

“If you don’t let me have twenty a girl is going to be sold into God knows where tomorrow,” DG’s voice sounded strained. “Trust me when I say you don’t want that on your conscious.”

“What you don’t want on your conscious is a bullet. I’ll take twenty-five. You can knock over a few convenience stores and make up your difference.”

“It’s not that simple.” Kurt had to give the man some credit for arguing with a gun level to his face. “I’m on a deadline and I have to keep a low profile. This heist was my only shot. It was risky to begin with, there’s no way I can keep on robbing places without being caught.”

Kurt slid his free hand into his breast pocket and felt gratified when the man flinched. He pulled out the photo and tossed it over the desk until it landed on the carpet near to DG. “Look at that. That little girl was taken from her family from monsters like you, monsters who want nothing more than to terrorize good people and make the world a bad place.”

DG had gone very still as soon as he saw the photograph and now he leaned forward to pick it up and get a better look. “This is the little girl?”

“They took her brother too,” Kurt sneered. “But who knows what they’ve done with him. I don’t understand how you Villains live with yourselves.”

But DG didn’t flinch this time and instead looked up with troubled eyes. “We have a lot more in common than you think.”

[Part V](http://gsmaxfic.livejournal.com/11132.html#cutid1)   



	5. What You Just Can't Do 5/5

  
  
Blaine didn’t know how he ended up handcuffed to one of the bookshelves bolted to the wall, or how Kurt knew where whoever’s office this was kept said fuzzy cheetah print handcuffs.

He could see the digital clock on the desk ticking down to three o’clock, the deadline Kurt had set for Mike.

“If I don’t hear from those two and Tina by then,” Kurt had said into the earpiece he had taken from Blaine’s ear, “I’m going to mail your partner’s body back to you piece by piece.”

Blaine had held his breath until he heard Mike agree on the other end. He was surprised but grateful; it wasn’t like the two of them where best friends or that Mike even owed him anything. As a matter of fact, Blaine was pretty sure even if they had pulled the heist off without a hitch he would be the one who would have to give Mike a lifetime of favours for tricking him into crossing his own father.

Kurt, he had gotten his name because Blaine had convinced him fifteen minutes ago that holding someone at gunpoint without so much as a how-do-you-do went against years of Hero traditions, was rummaging through the files of the office with a restless energy. Blaine would have joined him but Kurt had insisted on the handcuffs. Even though it put a strain on his shoulders to have both arms over his head like this, he couldn’t help but appreciate the professional thoroughness Kurt put into it.

Sure, a hostage situation like this wasn’t supposed to make Blaine feel this flutter in his stomach or the heat in his groin, not when he knew the lives of that little girl and her brother were at stake, but he couldn’t but flush as Kurt had to stand close enough for Blaine to smell his shampoo to handcuff him. Kurt didn’t seem to noticed though and Blaine was glad the shadowed room hid the sudden redness of his cheeks. Since then, Kurt had backed off and started methodically going through first the filing cabinets then the bound casework on the wall.

“What was that one?” Blaine asked as Kurt tossed another thick, plain black file on the ground.

“More accounting,” Kurt sighed. “I was hoping for something more interesting. Murders, drug overdoses, maybe some celebrity cover up I could get an exclusive on.”

“Are you sure you’re on the Heroes’ side?” Blaine asked not for the first time. “You seem a little too disappointed in the lack of violence.”

“Of course I’m sure,” Kurt snapped. “I’ve been rescuing people since before I could walk.” He reached for another thick binding. “I even gave broke into Rachel’s house to burn all her white stockings in sophomore year. If that’s not an extreme act of charity I’m not sure what is.”

“I’m not sure—You know what, never mind.” Blaine sighed and tugged at the restraints. Kurt shot him a suspicious look but Blaine just squirmed trying to make himself more comfortable. “All I’m saying is that you look a little too comfortable breaking and entering and now snooping through highly confidential files.”

Kurt snorted and started to reply but a look of shock crossed his face as he turned a page. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“No way!”

“What?” Blaine pulled frustrated at the cuffs.

“There’s no way Britney spent that much on her alimony last year. That man is a gold digger and she definitely deserves better representation that this.”

Blaine kicked at the shelf in frustration but this time Kurt just gave him a raised eyebrow.

“Look, you don’t have to let me go but if you just cuff one hand I can still read something because it’s going to be at least another hour before Mike and Tina can penetrate the underground—“

“Shut up,” Kurt said sharply, looking intently at another page in the book. Blaine started to bristle, that had been a little uncalled for, but Kurt looked up excitedly and Blaine forgot what he was going to say. “This is—I mean, wow.”

“More Britney?”

_“Jesse St. James.”_

Blaine frowned; he was certain he was up to date on all the latest celebrities but that one didn’t ring a bell. “Who?”

“He’s—it’s right here! It’s all the evidence they need to—do you know what this means?”

“Not really,” Blaine glowered.

“If we take this to the police they can lock him up. The entire gang would be disbanded. How stupid does he have to been to keep his records here like this?” Kurt started to pull more books of the shelf, checking dates in the covers and tossing them aside impatiently. “Where’s the leger? Come on—“

“Who the hell is Jesse St. James?”

“Ha, not so fast Danny Ocean, you can’t get me to reveal my tricks so easily.”

First, Blaine was flattered Kurt thought of him as on par with George Clooney. Second, he wished that Kurt hadn’t finishing going through the books on that shelf and was now starting on the books behind Blaine.

“Hey, ow!” he tried to twist out of the way as Kurt jabbed him in the rib with the spine of one book. “Watch it, those things hurt!”

But Kurt just hummed distractingly and Blaine had to stop his breath from hitching as Kurt pressed flush against him to root around the small of his back.

“D-don’t you think you should move me or something?” Blaine said fast, the words tumbling out so quickly it made Kurt pause. “If you want to get back there so badly I can just move. If you, uncuff me that is.”

Blaine wished Kurt hadn’t stopped in that exact spot because he was having trouble keeping his hips as far away as he could. It wasn’t that he couldn’t control himself, he wasn’t even that turned on, but it had been so long since someone had stood this closely to him and he remembered the feel of Kurt’s hands pushing him to the ground—

He could almost feel Kurt’s lips turn up in a smirk against the side of his neck.

_“We reached the inside.”_

Cold air rushed around him as Kurt leapt back and scrambled for the ear piece he had left on the desk. “How—“ Kurt coughed to clear his throat, “how long until you find the kids.”

_“We’ve found them,”_ this time the voice was female, Tina’s, and excited. _“Kurt, you’ll never believe it. Stevie can—I can’t even describe it.”_

“He can stop time!” Blaine shouted, knowing the device was sensitive but it was all the way across the room. “We knew that!”

_“I’m going to let them off at the drop point. How do I know when you’ve let my partner go?”_

“I’ll let him go,” Kurt said stubbornly. “I’m the good guy here. You have to take my word for it.”

“I’ll be fine!” Blaine shouted helpfully. “Just let them go!”

Mike grumbled over the ear piece again but then it went silent. Ten minutes later, Kurt’s cellphone rang with Tina’s cheerfully announcing that they were safely at her apartment. Kurt closed the call quietly and Blaine smiled expectantly.

But Kurt didn’t move towards him right away and after a few moments Blaine started to feel uncomfortable. “Kurt? Aren’t you going to, you know, let me go now?”

There was another long silence and the uncomfortable heaviness in his stomach began to grow. “Kurt?”

“I can’t believe I let you know my name.”

Blaine suddenly realized where this was going. He had heard this logic many times. Normally he was on the other side of it. And in all of those cases the people who had seen his face or known more than just his codename didn’t live to repeat them to anyone. 

“Kurt—“

“I’m sorry. But you know how it is, right?”

“What about being the good guy?” Blaine said quickly. Whatever excitement he had gotten earlier from Kurt was gone. “What about being different than Villains?”

“I could do a lot of good by turning in Jesse St. James,” Kurt looked at the folder he had placed on the desk. “And if I let you go, who knows what else you’ll do?”

“Come on, don’t talk like that,” Blaine shrank back against the shelf as Kurt finally looked at him.

“If I let you go you’re just going to turn on me.”

“No I won’t!”

“I can’t believe you. I know what you’ve done. I know what you’re supposed to do.”

“You don’t know me at all!” Blaine said frantically. “I-I-I like Vogue! And football! I have a brother and parents who will care that I’m gone and not just in a revenge-seeking way! I was on my school’s polo team and in sixth grade I broke my arm rescuing a cat from a tree! Please, Kurt—there’s a line here,” Blaine knew his voice was pleading, pathetic, he could almost see Cooper’s eye roll as Kurt checked the chamber of the gun. “This is a line you have to cross and once you do it, there’s no going back.”

But Kurt either wasn’t listening to him or didn’t understand what Blaine was trying to tell him. Blaine tugged at the handcuffs again, this time putting weight behind them and though the metal creaked Kurt had placed them too high for Blaine to get any real leverage. Whatever the lawyer of this office was involved in, these weren’t costume cuffs and the steel dug into Blaine’s wrists until they started to bleed.

At least he could see conflict in Kurt’s eyes, Blaine tried to take a deep breath as Kurt did the same. At least this was going to _mean_ something to someone. At least it wasn’t just going to be another murder in a long line of violent murders committed by whatever hardened evil overlord Dalton had ordered him to cross. At least Kurt knew his real name. At least he was unmasked and Kurt was looking into his face, the gun wavering in his hand until he lowered it like it was too heavy to hold—

Blaine exhaled sharply as Kurt cursed so he didn’t see it coming when Kurt pistol-whipped him across the temple and the world fell into darkness.

***

“You shouldn’t have left so earlier yesterday.”

“I know, Mercedes, I said I was sorry. I’m picking up Sam’s shift today so I have to get through another ten hours so let’s keep the complaints to a minimum or I’m going to turn this milk steamer on the next customer who complains about the temperature.”

“No, I mean you missed the two hottest guys disappearing into the bathroom for, like, half an hour yesterday.”

Kurt groaned as he wiped up the last of the spilled cocoa powder from around the containers. “I always miss good stuff.”

“That you do.”

Despite the phone call, Kurt sped over to Tina’s apartment as fast as he dared. He wasn’t going to believe they were save until he saw them and touched their faces. It had been a bit surreal to climb in through Tina’s window after leaving Blaine limp against the shelves but he accepted Sam’s hard hug all the same.

He had taken the money, waste not want not, and it wasn’t like anyone important was going to be missing it. He had also found the main files on Jesse St. James and the Adrenaline’s which he had carefully tucked into the safe in his room until he could figure out what to do with it. Until then, he took Sam’s shift to give him more time with his siblings who didn’t seem incline to stop holding onto him any time soon, and tried to push aside the tiredness that came with spending two nights sleepless.

Fortunately, the day had been quiet with most of the students sleeping off their hangovers from whatever parties they had been able to attend last Friday night. Kurt tried to not be jealous.

“If I just shoot the espresso shot into my mouth do you think they’ll count that as part of my daily drink limit? I mean, it’s not in a cup so—“

“Oh, there they are!” Mercedes smacked his arm but he barely felt it because suddenly all he could hear was _that voice._

“— and when the secretary found me in the morning she just started to scream. It took ages to convince her that her boss has just forgotten me there after whatever sex games he does in that office and then even longer to convince the police the window had been broken by a rock or something, and then even _longer_ to convince Wes to bring me bail money.”

“I got Tina’s number,” Kurt glanced up and finally connected the voice from the ear piece to a face. “Cocoa for me. Blaine?”

“I need caffeine. Medium-“ Blaine looked up finally and the bag he had been holding fell to the ground as he pointed an accusing finger straight at Kurt. _“You!”_

As Kurt vaulted over the counter and took off out the door with Blaine hot on his heels he knew leaving Blaine alive was a mistake.

But as he took to the sky _bounce, bounce, bounce_ on the plastic terraces and onto the window ledges and fire escapes of New York he couldn’t help but glance back with just a little bit of glee.

 

 


End file.
